


Lessons Learned

by snae_b



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Belts, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Caning, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Praise Kink (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dom/sub, Light Bondage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Rimming, Shameless Smut, Spanking, Sub Crowley (Good Omens), Top Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:55:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29809419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snae_b/pseuds/snae_b
Summary: The Bentley roars to life of its own accord and, sensing what is afoot, immediately starts in the direction of Aziraphale’s shop but refuses to move faster than 70 miles per hour. Aziraphale pats the seat appreciatively while Crowley grits his teeth and glares at the steering wheel.“At least someone can appreciate a little patience.”  Aziraphale snaps, not a little smugly. Crowley ignores him and stares at the road as if the Bentley weren’t the one in charge right now. “A lesson you could stand to learn.” Aziraphale takes a deep breath and relaxes entirely into the role he knows Crowley is anticipating. Aching for even. He turns to the demon, voice calm and firm. “Speaking of lessons, I’ve been terribly disappointed in your behavior today.” Crowley finally glances toward Aziraphale but doesn’t let their gaze meet, eyes cast downward instead. “I think you need to be reminded how to behave properly. Don’t you agree?”
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 85





	Lessons Learned

Aziraphale's eyes roam over every exposed inch of flesh in front of him, drinking in every hollow and curve and splash of crimson hair. Crowley is close enough he can see each droplet of water still clinging to his body and the patches of flushed skin where he'd stood too long under the too hot spray of the showerhead. Crowley is asking a question, but Aziraphale can’t be bothered. He is lost in those collar bones. Those pink nipples, hard and tight in the cool air of the room. That completely ridiculous belly button, framed by jutting hip bones and perched atop a trail of hair that disappears into a sea of red, deliciously exposed by the towel slung low across Crowley’s hips. He wants to put his mouth there. He swallows thickly and let his eyes trail around the demon. To the dusty round mirror attached to the vanity Crowley is currently sprawled against. Aziraphale isn't sure he's ever seen the demon completely upright. Even when walking he sways dangerously, like he might tip over if you speak too loudly in his direction. Aziraphale finds it charming, of course. That sinuous swagger, so far removed from his own prim gait.  
  
In the reflection of the mirror, Aziraphale gazes at the taut globe of one cheek, exposed by that damned sagging towel ( _would it just fall the rest of the way off already?_ ), and then on the cleft where it meets the other half of that sumptuous behind. He wants to put his mouth _there_.  
  
His eyes drift slowly upward, lingering for a moment on those two dimples on his lower back. He sucks his lip gently between his teeth at the sight of them before eyeing up the deep hollow of Crowley’s spine. He revels in the visible expanse of his ribcage, straining under milky skin, and sharp shoulder blades dusted in freckles. He thinks about being pressed against that vast expanse, sinking his teeth in, there... where those shoulders meet collarbones. And there... where his pulse hammers away at the point where his neck meets his jaw.  
  
His hands ( _honest to God_ ) act entirely of their own free will. Reaching out quickly, fingers hooking around the edge of the towel. Those conniving fingers yank Crowley forward, closing those few inches between his lazy sprawl and Aziraphale’s stiff perch on the vanity's little matching stool. They yank him forward until his mouth meets the crease between Crowley's thigh and body and he sucks at the skin there, still warm and damp from his shower. He smells like mint and citrus.  
  
Crowley folds in slightly over the angel and Aziraphale hears his breath hitch as he nips at the tender skin, the tiniest hint of a moan before he is pulling back again and away.  
  
"Angel, we'll never make our reservation on time like that! Now please, for the love of someone, which tie?"  
  
Aziraphale huffs and glances back and forth between Crowley's hands. He is holding two nearly identical skinny black ties. Modern fashion. He will just never understand. He sighs and gestures at one completely at random. "That one." Crowley narrows his eyes at the tie for a moment before choosing the other and pushing himself up and away from the vanity. He walks _(if you could call it that)_ across the room toward his suit, neatly pressed and hanging from the wardrobe door.  
  
"Chop chop, Angel. Wouldn’t want to be late!" He snatches the suit and sways into the bathroom. Aziraphale catches only the briefest hint of his exposed backside before the door swings shut between them as that damned towel _finally_ slips off Crowley’s hips and falls to the ground.

  
-

Aziraphale can’t help but gawk at Crowley in that slim cut black suit ( _black on black on black on_ black) even if he is irritated at him. All that talk about Aziraphale holding them up and Crowley had made them late anyway by insisting they swing by his flat. “To check in on the plants. They need a surprise inspection now and again to keep them on their toes. Roots? Roots.” Now, trying to make up for lost time, they are speeding through London, certainly in excess of 90 miles per hour and have just narrowly missed clipping a lorry as Crowley decided the sidewalk made a perfectly acceptable alternative lane and yanked the wheel across several lanes of traffic to merge onto it.

Aziraphale is gripping the edge of the seat with white knuckles and occasionally stomping an invisible brake. “Honestly, Crowley, must you _try_ to discorporate us every time we go for dinner?”

“Ah, c’mon Angel. We can always get new corporations.” Crowley peers over his glasses at Aziraphale, raking his eyes over him slowly and smirking. “Although I am _quite_ fond of that one.”

The tips of Aziraphale’s ears and the apples of his cheeks flush pink. “ _Please_ keep your eyes on the road, dear. I’m not sure heaven _or_ hell would be willing to issue us new ones after…” he gestures vaguely with one hand, as if to say _after that time we managed to corrupt the antichrist (so to speak), halt Armageddon, prevent a war between upstairs and downstairs, all the while breaking every last rule in the rulebook with the arrangement and in the meantime falling completely and utterly head over heels for one another which is surely frowned upon by both sides._ Crowley hums in agreement as he comes to a screeching halt in front of that hip new Vietnamese joint Aziraphale has been hinting at wanting to try for weeks now. Aziraphale is secretly delighted, but still irritated, so he tries desperately to keep that fact under wraps.

Aziraphale crosses his arms over his chest and sighs, “I _don’t_ think this is a parking spot.”

Crowley waggles his brows. “It is now.” He hops out of the car and hustles around to the other side to open the door for Aziraphale, offering his hand. Aziraphale accepts, begrudgingly ( _although he is, again, secretly delighted_ ). Crowley really does look _fantastic_ in that suit, after all.

-

By the end of their meal Aziraphale has nearly forgotten being frustrated with Crowley. It is hard to be mad with a belly full of pho. The waiter approaches the table with mung bean pastries and Vietnamese espresso and Aziraphale is nearly bouncing in his seat. His face falls, though, as the waiter plunks the dessert down unceremoniously in front of him while his eyes remain firmly affixed to Crowley, who only manages to sprawl out even further in his seat under the waiter’s gaze. Trousers stretching tight across his groin, which the waiter _certainly_ does not miss. Crowley smiles ( _smiles?!_ ) up at the waiter, head lolling to one side. “We’ll take the check now, love,” he purrs. Aziraphale can’t keep his jaw off the table as the waiter blushes and hands him the check and he can _definitely_ not suppress a scandalized gasp as he watches their fingers brush together, deliberately and quite tenderly, during the tradeoff. Crowley turns back toward Aziraphale with a devilish smirk and winks at him over the top of his glasses as he hands the waiter a very heavy, very black, credit card without looking at him.

Realization slams into Aziraphale like a Mack truck. Of course. _Of course!_ How did it take him all damn day to realize? He should have known hours ago. This morning, even, when his reading was interrupted by Crowley stretching noisily beside him as he roused from sleep. Aziraphale had glanced away from his book to find the demon sprawled beside him, completely nude, and lazily running his hand down the stringy muscles of his chest and abs before absently stroking over his cock. He was sure he had been fully clothed just a moment before, but who was he to complain, really? As he rolled over to lend a helping hand, he had found himself face first in the mattress, Crowley miraculously halfway to the bedroom door. The view as he sauntered away wasn’t half bad, but he found himself confounded by what exactly had just happened.

Shortly after breakfast Crowley had crowded Aziraphale up against the kitchen counter, their hips pressed flush together. Aziraphale had leaned in for a kiss just as Crowley pulled away, having picked up his steaming coffee cup that happened to be situated directly behind him. Aziraphale was certain it had been across the room just moments before.

All day it had gone on like this. Crowley presenting himself in sultry positions only to draw away at the last minute with some excuse. Then making them late to dinner, which he knew drove Aziraphale up a wall. And now this little… display. It all clicked into place. Crowley was _being naughty._ He was looking for a little… punishment. Upping the ante bit by bit all day and this flagrant flirtation the coup de grace. He can’t help but smile at Crowley for a moment before stuffing it down and settling into his role, brows furrowing appropriately. Crowley grins back, a pink flush of excitement creeping up over the collar of (hnng) _that_ _suit_ , before he returns his gaze to the waiter and practically eye fucks him through the rest of the transaction.

Aziraphale is sure to put on a show of scowling and eye rolling and avoiding Crowley all the way back to the Bentley, where he opens his own door ( _thank you very much_ ). Crowley skulks behind a few steps and sprawls into the driver’s seat without a word. The Bentley roars to life of its own accord and, sensing what is afoot, immediately starts in the direction of Aziraphale’s shop but refuses to move faster than 70 miles per hour. Aziraphale pats the seat appreciatively while Crowley grits his teeth and glares at the steering wheel.

“At least someone can appreciate a little _patience_.” Aziraphale snaps, not a little smugly. Crowley ignores him and stares at the road as if the Bentley weren’t the one in charge right now. “A lesson you could stand to learn.” Aziraphale takes a deep breath and relaxes entirely into the role he knows Crowley is anticipating. Aching for even. He turns to the demon, voice calm and firm. “Speaking of lessons, I’ve been terribly disappointed in your behavior today.” Crowley finally glances toward Aziraphale but doesn’t let their gaze meet, eyes cast downward instead. “I think you need to be reminded how to behave properly. Don’t you agree?”

Crowley’s lips twitch toward a smirk but he manages to tame it into a grimace. “Yes…” Aziraphale waits. He is nothing if not patient, after all, “…Sir.” He finally murmurs. Aziraphale smiles warmly at Crowley.

“Yes, then, lovely. We’ll start in on a lesson promptly when we get home.” Crowley sucks his lower lip between his teeth as he smashes the accelerator and the Bentley finally acquiesces.

-

Crowley had nearly sprinted up the stairs to the flat above the bookshop and into the bedroom they shared most nights, pausing only to hold the door open for Aziraphale who was sure to feign nonchalance. He tried his damnedest to saunter casually up the stairs, pausing for a moment to carefully inspect the nails of one hand before continuing up the last few steps and into the bedroom after Crowley. Crowley closes the door quietly and lingers next to it, hands stuffed into his pockets, eyes trained on the Angel who has walked a few feet into the room before turning around slowly. He sighs and rolls his eyes at the demon then spits his words out. “This isn’t a bloody romance novel, darling. I’m not going to ravage you against that door.” Crowley drops his eyes to his feet, cheeks blazing but Aziraphale can see the outline of his thickening cock in those slim black trousers. He can’t help wondering if the demon is wearing anything underneath. He lets Crowley simmer there for a minute. The anticipation mixing with just a touch of humiliation. Aziraphale knows it is driving him crazy. That he is itching for more.

“Are you planning on dawdling there all night or are you going to come here like a good boy?” Crowley snaps to attention and is in front of Aziraphale in two strides. Aziraphale grins, tilts Crowley’s chin up with a single finger and admires the blotchy red patches high on his cheekbones. “Look at you. Obedient little pet. Gagging for it, aren’t you?” He sighs, aiming for boredom, and if the desperate look on Crowley’s face is any indication, nailing it. “On your knees, please.”

Crowley buckles at the knees and hits the ground with a thud, coming to rest just inches from Aziraphale’s crotch. He keeps his eyes downcast. Arms hanging limply at his sides. Aziraphale snatches him by the hair, yanking his head back and face up to gaze upon him. He coos lightly as he takes in Crowley’s lightly freckled skin, his bobbing adam’s apple. Eyes like hardened amber. He hadn’t even noticed Crowley removing his sunglasses and is pleased he has done so of his own accord. “Such a gorgeous thing.” Aziraphale can tell he wants to look away, eyes darting off to the side and up to the ceiling. He wants to avoid the praise. To hide from it. But Aziraphale knows that he also revels in it. _Craves_ it. His flush as much reflecting arousal as embarrassment. Aziraphale holds him in place, hair wrapped tightly around his fingers, and leans over Crowley’s face. “So beautiful.” He grins mischievously. “I can’t wait to ruin you tonight.” Crowley’s eyes snap back to Aziraphale and he moans quietly, his body creasing in the middle.

“Rules, please.” This is Aziraphale’s requirement for their games. A recitation of their agreement. It simultaneously reaffirms his dominance and reminds them both that this is just a game. It ensures Crowley knows he is in charge but that they are playing by _their_ rules and they can stop at a moment’s notice. Crowley, on the other hand, does _not_ enjoy this part, which tickles Aziraphale to no end. “One.” He prompts. Crowley sighs, earning a sharp tug of his hair. “ _One_.”

“Aziraphale is in charge. I can only come when he says I can.”

“ _If_ I say you can.” He corrects with a smirk. “Continue. Two”

“No miracles.”

“Three”

Crowley scowls slightly. “The safeword is a gift.” He mutters.

Aziraphale tightens his grip in Crowley’s hair. “For whom?”

“For Aziraphale.”

“That’s right, darling. It is such a gift to be trusted. To let me care for you. It is a gift for you too. To know that _you_ know your limits and aren’t ashamed of them. Now dear, what is the safeword?”

Crowley whispers, eyes fluttering closed. “Gingersnaps.” Aziraphale releases his grip on his hair and moves his palm to cup Crowley’s cheek tenderly. He leans closer so their lips are ghosting against one another. Hot breath passing between them.

He smirks against the demon’s mouth and whispers, “and I so love it when he does.” He presses one sweet, chaste kiss to Crowley’s lips. He leans in, seeking more, and Aziraphale smiles as he pulls back an inch. “Ready?” Crowley lets out a shaky exhalation and nods vigorously, eyes still shut. He yelps as Aziraphale’s fingers find his hair again and yank him back to his feet. Aziraphale leaves him standing in the middle of the room as he drags the vanity stool around to face him. Crowley knows better than to move without permission, and so he waits patiently where Aziraphale has left him.

Crowley licks his lips as Aziraphale peels off his jacket and hangs it neatly in the wardrobe. His waistcoat and bowtie soon follow. He makes a show of rolling his sleeves up to his elbows before taking a seat in front of the demon who is nearly humming with excitement. Aziraphale isn’t sure he’ll ever fully understand the whole forearm thing but he is happy to indulge nonetheless.

He takes one last moment to admire Crowley in _that fucking suit_. It is almost a shame he couldn’t leave it on. Maybe another night. “Take off your clothes.” Crowley is shrugging out of his jacket before the sentence is out of Aziraphale’s mouth. “Slowly _._ ” Crowley sighs and _rolls his eyes_ as his fingers move to his tie and Aziraphale is on his feet in the blink of an eye, fingers gripping Crowley firmly by the jaw and squeezing hard enough to leave the imprints of his fingernails behind. “Insolent fiend. You’ll show me respect or you’ll regret it.” The barest hint of a smile touches Crowley’s lips as his eyes flick up to meet Aziraphale’s. He can feel Crowley’s pulse racing under his fingers. He knows what Crowley is doing. Trying to speed things along. Aziraphale will have none of it. “ _Do not test me_. I have half a mind to tie you up and leave you here untouched until morning. And did I say that you could look at me?” Crowley drops his eyes as Aziraphale releases the iron grip on his jaw and returns to his perch on the stool. “ _Slowly_.” He repeats. Crowley returns his trembling fingers to his tie and loosens it completely before slipping it slowly from around his neck and dropping it to the floor.

Aziraphale hums in appreciation and licks his lips as Crowley starts at his top button, lingering for a moment once he finishes with it before moving to the next. By the time he has pulled his shirt up out of his trousers and popped the final button Aziraphale’s cock is throbbing. Crowley slips the shirt off his shoulders and it falls to the ground next to his discarded jacket and tie. Aziraphale’s eyes rake over his body in the same way it had that afternoon when Crowley was leaning against the vanity in just a towel. He uses the mirror to his advantage once again to admire the lean muscles working across his shoulders. As Crowley’s fingers reach for his belt Aziraphale reaches between his own legs and palms at the bulge in his trousers. Crowley fumbles with his belt, fingers quickening as he stares at the angel’s hand. Aziraphale, mostly out of self-interest, lets it slide when Crowley slips out of the rest of his clothing with slightly more haste.

Crowley stands exposed in the center of the room and Aziraphale lets him stew as he gazes upon every bare inch of skin. His eyes linger on Crowley’s cock, already standing upright and shining at the tip. He shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot but remains in place. Just when it looks like Crowley might combust… Aziraphale lets him stew a little longer. Crowley clenches and unclenches his fists at his sides as he waits. Finally Aziraphale stands. Crowley’s cock twitches and he sucks his lip between his teeth in anticipation. Aziraphale kneels in front of him and Crowley’s breath hitches. “Angel.” His whisper is met with a sharp smack to his left thigh. He yelps in surprise, eyes wide.

“I don’t believe that is my title.”

“Sorry, s- sorry, Sir.” Crowley sputters.

Aziraphale snatches the tie off the pile of clothes at his feet and slips the thin leather belt from the loops of Crowley’s trousers where it still rests. Just inches from Aziraphale’s face the muscles of Crowley’s stomach flutter. His chest heaves rapidly as his breathing speeds up. Aziraphale reaches up and strokes Crowley’s thigh, admires where the skin is already pink from his hand. He loves how easily the delicate ivory skin reflects his actions in every shade of pink and red and blue and purple. Little reminders for both of them. This pink handprint will fade rapidly, but they both know there will be plenty to admire in the morning.

Crowley’s fingers twitch next to Aziraphale’s hand but he doesn’t reach out. Aziraphale looks up, palm still resting on that warm spot on Crowley’s thigh. “Bed please. Face down.” Crowley doesn’t need to be told twice, hurrying to the bed and scurrying up over the sheets before practically throwing himself flat, face resting on his arms. Aziraphale follows and admires Crowley’s lank form, sprawled indecently on the white linen sheets. He strokes a single finger down Crowley’s spine, earning a shiver and a whimper from the demon. “Next time I want you to crawl.” Without warning he raises his hand high overhead and brings it down _hard_ on Crowley’s right cheek, throwing a little angelic strength behind it. The demon arches up off the bed with a howl, arms and legs flailing.

“Fuck! Ang.. Sir! Fuck.” he sputters through gritted teeth. Aziraphale smiles down at the bright red handprint forming on his skin. Crowley is fisting the sheets and panting already. He twists his face into the sheets and Aziraphale reaches out to trace plump fingers over the reddening skin. Crowley hisses into the sheets and grinds his hips down into the mattress.

Aziraphale tsks and gives him another light smack to his outer thigh. “Enough of that.” Crowley groans and stills. “Seems you’re having some trouble being still. And just when I thought you were going to be good for me tonight.”

Crowley whimpers. “I’ll be good. I’ll behave. I promise.”

“Oh I’ll be sure of it. Hands.” Crowley releases his grip on the sheets and presses his hands behind his back obediently. Aziraphale grabs him roughly by the wrists and crosses his arms across his back, wrists to opposite elbows, and proceeds to bind his arms with Crowley’s tie, wrapping it tightly like a ladder from one wrist to another. If it ends up a little longer than it was a moment ago, Crowley doesn’t need to know. “I’m certain that I suggested the _other_ tie, but I suppose this one will do.” He catches the edge of a proud smirk peeking out from the sheets and can’t suppress grinning in response. His clever boy, planning all day. His heart swells and he takes a moment to gently stroke the places where the tie digs into his skin. He leans close and whispers conspiratorially in Crowley’s ear, “Everything feel ok? It isn’t too tight?”

Crowley smiles more brightly into the mattress and indulges Aziraphale, whispering back. “S’good, Angel. Perfect.”

“Right then.” He says just a touch too chirpily as he leans back. He clears his throat and tries again. “Right then, I believe we have some _lessons_ to attend to. You’ve been terribly naughty today. Perhaps this belt can help talk some sense into you.” He snaps the leather together and it cracks loudly. Crowley tenses at the sound and goosebumps rise up over his back and down his legs. Without further ceremony Aziraphale raises the belt and brings it down across the tops of Crowley’s sensitive thighs. He buries his face in the soft sheets and yelps loudly into the mattress. Aziraphale reaches down and yanks his head back by the hair. “I want to hear you.” He brings it down again, this time against just Crowley’s left cheek and he yells out.

“That’s it darling. Just like that. You sound so lovely.” He brings the belt down again across Crowley’s thighs and he screeches as the already sensitive flesh is struck for a second time. “That was for the way you ate that banana at breakfast.” Crowley can’t help but snort out a laugh. That is until Aziraphale releases his hair and brings the belt down three times in quick succession, leaving a series of crisscrossing welts across his backside. He pants loudly into the mattress and tries again to grind his hips down, looking for any kind of contact. Any stimulation for his painfully hard cock.

Aziraphale grabs him by the hips and jerks them up so Crowley is face down in the mattress with his cock hanging untouched between his legs. He groans at the loss of contact. “I said that is _enough_ of that.” Aziraphale hisses and brings the belt down across the soles of Crowley’s exposed feet. Crowley has confessed that this particular act reminds him of walking on consecrated ground. Of the moment that Aziraphale admitted to himself that he felt more than friendship. It feels like love to him.

His body trembles at the sensation. “Fuck! Oh _fuck_ , Angel!” The belt makes contact with his ass again with a hearty crack. “Sir! I’m sorry, S- sir. Oh ffffuck.”

Aziraphale strokes his palm over the enflamed reddened welts painted across Crowley’s ass and thighs. “I think you can take just a few more. For me. Can’t you? Can you be a good boy for me?” Crowley’s thighs shake and his cock jumps between his legs.

“I… Oh… Y-yess. Yes sir. I’ll be good for you.” Aziraphale cracks the belt against itself again and Crowley flinches at the noise.

“Why don’t we mix it up just a touch.” He drops the belt onto the bed next to Crowley’s face and tries his best to saunter to the wardrobe, reaching up to the top shelf and pulling down a long narrow box. Crowley cranes his neck trying to get a better look and sucks in a breath when he realizes what it is. Aziraphale opens the box and draws out a long narrow cane. He holds it out between his palms to show Crowley with a grin. “I’ve been waiting to share this surprise with you. I’ve been practicing, you know.” He pops the cane lightly against his palm then runs the tip down Crowley’s back. “I think four strikes may begin to make up for your behavior at dinner. Would you be a dear and count them for me?” Crowley stares wide eyed, mouth hanging open and nods as best he can in his position.

Aziraphale brings the cane whistling through the air and it cracks against Crowley’s thighs. He howls and shutters forward, back arching. After a moment to regain his composure he peeks backward toward Aziraphale. “One.” He rasps, voice hoarse.

“Oh, very good. Thank you.” He runs the tip of the cane across the welt and then trails it up his crack. Crowley whimpers. Without warning he brings it against Crowley’s thighs again, just an inch above the first. He yelps again but recovers quickly.

“Two.” He chokes out.

Aziraphale brings the cane screeching through the air and lands his hardest blow yet right across the center of Crowley’s already sensitive behind.

  
Crowley crumples under the blow, collapsing onto his side. “Fffuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Crowley’s eyes are screwed shut tight and he bites into the sheets groaning and writhing. The cane had struck with enough force that pinpricks of blood are left in its wake and the edges of the welt are already turning a faint purple.

Aziraphale gasps and is struck with a flash of panic. He’s taken it too far. Sometimes he forgets the strength that comes with being an Angel. He drops the cane on the bed and reaches out to stroke the hair away from Crowley’s face with trembling fingers. “Oh dear, I’m sorry!” He reaches for the tie binding Crowley’s wrists. “Let’s get this…”

Crowley wrenches away, hissing through clenched teeth. “Three!”

“Darling…”

“Three. Three!” Crowley is panting. Sweat damp hair clinging to his skin, eyes now open wide, pupils nearly round.

“I’d say you’ve learned your lesson.” Aziraphale says shakily. “Why don’t we call it at three.”

Crowley struggles to maneuver himself back into position. “ _Please_!” he croaks. “Just… just like the last. Please, Sir.” Aziraphale sighs and picks up the cane again, moving back into position. He hesitates as he gazes at the darkening bruise from his last blow then takes a deep breath and swings, cane meeting flesh with a loud crack right at the seam where his legs meet that gorgeous tight ass, sending Crowley forward onto his belly again. He lets out a long low groan and his body shudders, hands fisted tightly. Aziraphale drops the cane and reaches out to stroke him, running his fingers up the tender flesh on the inside of his thigh and beginning to spread Crowley’s legs gently. He is quite ready to move on to the next stage of things. He is good at this part ( _not to toot his own horn_ ), but he is _much_ better at what is to come. 

“Wait, wait! Yellow! Whatever. Just…” Aziraphale yanks his hand back, ready to miracle the binds away in an instant. Crowley buries his face in the sheets again for a moment. “Oh fuck.” He moans. “F-four. _Fuck_. Four.”

“Crowley dear what’s wrong. Talk to me.”

Crowley labors to take long deep breaths through his nose. “If you touch me…” he manages through gritted teeth. “I’m going to come.”

“Oh? Oh!” He lets out a breath and smiles fondly at Crowley. He can’t quite tamp down the pride swelling up in his chest. Or the arousal swelling up between his legs. “Well… whenever you’re ready, just say the word.” He perches primly on the edge of the bed, unable to take his eyes off the state of Crowley’s backside. To think, that Crowley would trust him so intimately. He wants to touch the welts. To kiss them. But he will wait until Crowley has had time to settle. “Since we’ve hit the proverbial pause button, do let me know if your arms are still ok. No pinching? Numbness?”

Crowley blinks up at Aziraphale and lets out a long exhale through his mouth. “Ssfine Angel. M’fine.” He grins “Better ‘n fine.”

“Color?”

“Green, green. Please.” Aziraphale climbs up onto the bed and situates himself between Crowley’s legs. He snaps his fingers and his clothes transport (neatly folded) to the wardrobe. Crowley whips his head around best he can ( _certainly further than a normal human would have managed on account of being partially snake_ ) and sneers.

“Oi! Rules!”

“Oh that one is for you and you know that perfectly well.” ( _Aziraphale_ is _a bit of a bastard, after all.)_

Aziraphale wastes no time diving back in. He reaches down and grips Crowley tightly, fingers digging into the battered skin of Crowley’s ass, and spreading him open. Crowley sucks in a sharp breath, hips bucking back involuntarily. Aziraphale grins and leans forward, bringing his tongue to Crowley’s tight hole.

He arches his back with a hiss, face and chest lifting off the mattress. "Oh fucking hell!" He collapses back into the mattress as Aziraphale takes him apart with long slow strokes using the flat of his tongue, pausing every few moments to dip the tip inside. He circles his tongue and then plunges it in and out of him slowly. Opening him up just that little bit. Pulling all manner of little groans out of the demon. Crowley trembles as Aziraphale reaches down to palm his balls and stroke this thumb over his perineum before letting it slide up and press inside him.

"Oh God, more, please." He pants, trying and failing to press back onto Aziraphale’s hand.

Aziraphale pulls out and sits back completely. "It would be wise not to blaspheme if you want me to continue."

"I- I'm sorry! I'm sorry, please I'll be good I promise. I'll do anything." Aziraphale considers getting up and walking out the door. It would be so satisfying to watch Crowley squirm. He glances down at his own leaking cock where it rests against his belly and is hit with a sudden surge of _angelic mercy_. Yes, definitely mercy. Definitely _not_ lust or greed or concupiscence. He grips Crowley roughly by the hip with one hand and presses into him with two miraculously slicked fingers. This time Crowley doesn’t complain about breaking rules, his voice lost in all of the air that is suddenly rushing out of his lungs. The only sound that escapes his lips is a long low moan as Aziraphale begins working him open feverishly, giving him little time to adjust before adding a third finger. Crowley digs his knees and toes into the mattress, bucking back against Aziraphale’s hand as well as he can.

“Such a _greedy_ boy.” Aziraphale’s voice is low and rough. What a sight Crowley makes. Eyes heavy lidded, lashes fluttering as he looks back over his shoulder. Mouth gaping, all pink tongue and flashes of sharp teeth. Arms straining against black silk. Stripes in every shade of pink and red and purple across milky skin. Aziraphale bends his head to place a gentle kiss on one and Crowley whimpers beneath him. He withdraws his fingers and Crowley scrambles up onto his knees, legs spread, face still pressed into the mattress. Aziraphale leans close and whispers “Such a _good_ boy.” as he presses into him all at once.

Crowley groans lewdly. His toes curl where they press against Aziraphale’s calves and his thighs quiver. Aziraphale grips him firmly by the hips, thumbs pressing into the tender welts painted over his ass, and begins to pump in and out, slowly at first but picking up speed quickly, the front of his thighs slapping loudly against the back of Crowley’s. Crowley is panting loudly with every thrust and swearing under his breath. “I- I don’t think… oh fuck, I won’t last like this.” He stammers.

Crowley yelps in surprise as Aziraphale leans down, wraps one arm around Crowley’s waist and his other hand around Crowley’s throat and yanks him up so he is kneeling upright, straddling his lap. He holds him close to his chest, unmoving except for tightening his grip around Crowley’s throat. Not enough to restrict his air flow, just a tease at the possibility he _could_. Aziraphale knows the welts sting against the sweatslick expanse of his thighs. He knows Crowley _loves_ it.

“Fuck, f – fuck! Not helping!” Crowley’s breath is ragged. He drops his head back so that it rests on Aziraphale’s shoulder behind him and focuses on taking long full breaths. Aziraphale takes the opportunity to nip at his neck and suck on the skin exposed between his fingertips. They pause there, bodies pressed close, heartbeats settling, Aziraphale sucking a bruise onto Crowley’s pulse point. He moves his lips up and sucks Crowley’s earlobe between his teeth and teases the skin there before pulling back and kissing the shell of his ear.

“I want you to come now, fucking yourself on me.” He can feel Crowley’s heartbeat ratcheting back up under the squeeze of his fingers. “Will you be a good boy and do that for me?” Crowley is already moving, grinding his hips in circles down on Aziraphale’s cock.

“Yess.” he hisses. “I’ll be so good for you.” He lifts his hips and drops back down, shifts the angle of his hips and does it again, looking for that perfect spot. On the third try Aziraphale knows he hits it. His back arches up away from Aziraphale’s chest, and his belly jumps under his fingers. Aziraphale admires the tension in his biceps and forearms, his jutting shoulder blades, pulled close together by his bound arms. Crowley lifts himself up again, thighs straining over Aziraphale’s lap, and slowly grinds back down in the same spot. His mouth falls open and he drops his head forward, chin to chest as he begins to move more quickly, bouncing up and down in Aziraphale’s lap.

Aziraphale begins to pant under him. Crowley isn’t the only one that isn’t going to last long. His hand slips down and he grips Crowley’s cock and begins to stroke him. Crowley’s rhythm falters as his orgasm hits and he tilts further forward, moaning and muttering a string of mostly incoherent thoughts “ _fuck_ ” and “ _Angel_ ” and “ _yes_ ” and “ _more_ ” and “ _please_ ”. Aziraphale releases his grip on Crowley’s throat to wrap his arm across his chest and hold him in place while he fucks up into him in time with his hand. The sudden pulsing clench of Crowley’s body around Aziraphale’s cock brings him over the edge and he comes hard, shouting Crowley’s name.

They topple over together onto the bed, panting, Aziraphale still buried deep inside of Crowley. Aziraphale kisses him on the shoulder and pulls slowly out of him before sitting up on his heels. He un-knots the silk tie and gently slips it from Crowley’s arms, reaching down to help straighten them at his sides and rub his stiff joints and muscles. Crowley whimpers softly as Aziraphale strokes his arms from bicep to fingertips, encouraging circulation. He leans down and presses a kiss to each palm, soothing the dark crescent moons imprinted there from Crowley’s own fingernails, before moving up and scattering kisses across his shoulders and the skin stretched taut over his ribcage. His fingers find the soft expanse between his shoulder blades and spine, where his wings live when they are on this plane of existence, and knead each side thoroughly, loosening all the knots and tension and eliciting long low groans from Crowley. His hands move up and up and soothe Crowley’s neck before diving into his hair and massaging his scalp.

“You keep this up we’re going to have to go for another round.” Crowley mumbles, and Aziraphale chuckles.

“Feeling better, love?”

“Was never not good.” Aziraphale can hear the grin in his voice. He reaches to the bedside table and finds a small tin and opens it. A subtle floral scent wafts out of the container and Crowley squirms just slightly. Aziraphale dips two perfectly manicured fingers into the salve and begins to apply it to Crowley’s bruises and welts. He sucks in a breath and shifts under Aziraphale’s ministrations, pressing his hips down into the mattress. “Definitely going to have to have another go ‘round.”

“Hush.” Aziraphale remembers the mess painted across Crowley’s belly and the sheets underneath him and cleans it up with a snap of his fingers. He caps the tin and rolls Crowley onto his side before nestling in behind him and pulling him close. “Plenty of time for that later. You should rest. What can I do for you?” Crowley purrs and thinks for a moment.

“Just this, for now.”

“Of course, darling. As long as you want.”

“Thank you. For tonight. I love you.”

Aziraphale presses a soft kiss to his hair. “I love you too, so much.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm (very recently) on twitter now. Is that still a thing people do? Come do whatever the hell it is people do on twitter. But with me. @snae_b


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